In Deep
by RickRhymes
Summary: Rick comes to terms with his feelings for Michonne. Richonne oneshot, set between 6x09 and 6x10.


"Good morning," Rick heard Michonne's voice from the staircase.

"Mornin'," he said without looking at her, sitting at the dining table with his back facing the stairs. He picked up a slice of buttered toast from his plate and brought it to his lips while he studied a map of the area surrounding Alexandria.

"How'd you sleep?" He heard her open up the fridge.

"Great," he said. "You?"

"Great. Where's Daryl?" He heard her pour something into a glass, then open and close the fridge door again.

"I don't know. He was gone when I came down."

"Carl?"

"Physical therapy with Denise."

"She said he's doing really well, last time I talked to her."

"Yeah. We owe that woman everything."

"Mhmm," Michonne agreed. "So it's just you and me?"

"Yup," Rick stood from the table and finally looked at Michonne. She leaned up against the counter, sipping from a glass of orange juice. She wore her usual morning attire: a grey bath robe. But today, it seemed shorter than usual. Like if she bent over just enough, he could get a clear view of everything underneath. And on top… The lapels were pulled open so wide he could see the inner curves of her breasts. Her nipples strained against the fabric, begging for attention.

"...and it's a good thing," he added, eventually.

Michonne nodded her head slowly in agreement, and bit her lip. Rick approached her, freely looking down the opening in her robe as she set down her drink. He lifted his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek, then pushing her hair back off her shoulder. Her hands came to rest on his hips. They'd never touched each other like this before. This was the first time, but it didn't feel like it.

"Sure you want to do this?" She whispered.

"What, are you kidding?" He replied. "Of course," he lowered his mouth to hers.

She moaned when their lips touched, and urged her tongue into his mouth. He pushed her back against the edge of the counter, caging her in with his arms.

"You taste good," she said.

 _You taste like oranges_ , he thought to himself, and refocused his attention on her neck.

"Rick," she whispered. His eyes were closed, taking in the taste and feel of her throat, and he could feel her fingers creep into his hair. He reached for her sash and swiftly untied it, spreading her robe wide open and exposing her naked front to him. Her grip on his curls tightened. He slipped his hands around her waist and blindly began to inch them back out of the kitchen, to the living room.

When he collapsed back onto the sofa, he eagerly pulled her on top of him. He slid his hands up and down her thighs, relishing the feel of her skin under his hands. He tried over and over to hike her robe up around her waist, exposing her ass to his greedy hands. But his fingers kept fumbling with the hem.

Michonne, oblivious to his struggle, took his head in her hands and urged his face into the opening of her robe, between her breasts. Groaning, he moved his hands up to her back, pulling her body tighter against him. He licked and sucked the exposed skin of her chest and she whimpered in response.

He was ready to flip her over onto her back and climb between her legs when she suddenly pulled away from him.

"Did you hear that?" She whispered.

He hadn't heard anything. He cupped his hands around her face and tried to bring her mouth to his. "Hear what?"

"Judith's crying," she said, and began to slide off of his lap.

He listened again, but heard only silence coming from upstairs. "No, no, she's asleep." He reached for her to keep her from escaping, but she was already standing. Somehow, he could feel this moment slipping away from him for good.

"I better see if she's okay."

"Michonne, wait!" He pleaded, and stuck his arm out. He grasped the arm of her robe as she moved away from him. As the garment came sliding off of her, he looked down into his hands. The soft, grey fabric spilled through his fingers. Realizing Michonne would now be naked, he eagerly looked back up to see her. But she was gone.

His eyes fluttered open.

The first thing Rick registered was his dick, thick and heavy with arousal for the first time in...a while. After a dream like that, he was hardly surprised.

The next thing was Judith. She _was_ crying. Whining a bit, anyway. He propped himself up on his elbows to see her standing in her play pen. She began to softly bounce up and down when she realized he was awake. Normally, she slept in the nursery, but sometimes he liked to keep her with him instead. And the change in sleeping arrangements never seemed to bother her.

Just as he was about to get up and tend to his daughter, he heard the soft click of his bathroom door. Turning his head toward the noise, he watched none other than the star of his dream emerge from the bathroom. Her hair hung down loose, obscuring her face as she tried to close the door quietly. When she looked up and saw him awake, her expression turned apologetic.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you. I just needed this." She held up a half empty tube of Colgate.

Rick didn't realize what she'd said at first. His attention was focused on what she was wearing: her robe. Closed high on her chest and secured snugly with the sash, the hem stopping right at her knees. Just like usual, and nothing like the dream. But after that, he'd probably never look at her in it the same way again. He shook his head and sat up, adjusting under the thin covers to hide his erection. "It's alright," he rushed out.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, picking up immediately on his discomfort. No doubt, it was confusing to her. She'd been in his bedroom before. He'd seen her in her robe before. There was nothing unusual about this situation.

"You okay?" Michonne asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah, I just… I had a bad dream," he lied.

That didn't seem to ease her worry, but she simply nodded and dropped the subject.

"Did she have a bad night?" She gestured to Judith, who had turned her attention to Michonne, stretching her arms toward her.

"No, no," he replied, rubbing sleep out of one eye. "I just...wanted to keep her with me." She nodded in understanding.

"I'll take her down," she said, going to the crib and gathering the eager baby into her arms.

"Thank you," Rick said, watching his daughter clamp her tiny fingers around Michonne's shoulders. Michonne brushed her hand tenderly over the baby's head and kissed her hair. He kept eyes on the two of them as they left.

"Carl's making breakfast," Michonne threw over her shoulder. When the girls were out of sight, he relaxed back into the mattress and slung his forearm over his eyes.

Pieces of his dream flashed through his mind, and he welcomed the way they seemed to shoot straight to his cock. He'd never dreamt, or even thought about Michonne in that way before. And yet, thinking of her that way now didn't feel unfamiliar. Imagining her lips on his, her arms embracing him… It was natural. Like the feelings had always been there, settling in, getting comfortable, but only now did he get to see them.

For as long as he could remember, he hadn't made room for thoughts of anything but food and water, shelter and safety. And, if he was being honest, even though his wife was gone, he'd still considered himself a married man.

Judging by the weather, it was closing in on one year since Lori had died. He no longer woke up in the morning, expecting her to be lying next to him. So much had happened since he'd seen her last, he doubted she would even recognize the man he was today. Still...being Lori's husband was a part of him that had never changed. It had never needed to.

Until now, when he realized he could have a future beyond risking his life for a can of peas and falling asleep with a knife tucked under his pillow. When he'd had an erotic dream about his closest friend. A damn good dream that he wished he could finish. A dream he wouldn't mind turning into a reality.

Rick contemplated taking the opportunity to indulge in his desire while the memories were still fresh in his mind. But with the house bustling that morning, and his family's propensity to enter his bedroom without knocking, he decided to let it settle down on its own.

Instead, he went to the bathroom for a quick shower. He brushed his teeth without toothpaste, spent a few more moments than usual slicking his hair into place, then headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, Michonne, his children, and Daryl all sat around the dining table. Michonne and Carl hovered over their bowls, savoring what looked like sparse servings of oatmeal. Judith sat on Carl's knee, scooping oatmeal from her own bowl with her fists and shoving it into her mouth. Daryl sat at the far end of the table, cleaning and sharpening the knife he typically carried on his belt.

"Mornin'," Rick said as he entered the kitchen.

"Mornin'," they replied back, out of sync.

He walked over to where his children sat and dropped a kiss on Judith's head, then he went to the stove. A small pile of oatmeal sat in the bottom of a pot, just enough for one person.

"Daryl," he said, noticing that his brother didn't have a bowl in front of him. He held the pot out for him, offering up the last of the breakfast.

"Nah, I'm good," he declined, shaking his head and going back to his knife. When food rations got low, as they were that week, Daryl often opted to go without. Rick didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Except find more food.

He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, dumped the remainder of the pot into it, and then joined his family at the table, taking the seat at the end near Michonne and his children.

While they ate in silence, Rick snuck a glance at Michonne over his bowl.

She looked the same as ever. A cool, tank-top under her favorite vest. Her hair, secured in place with a blue headband. Her skin, dewy from the humidity, reflecting the sunlight that shone in through the windows. It's the way she looked every day, but today, it was different. He felt like he could stare at her for hours, like he was craving for every thought in her head.

For the first time, he wondered if she found him attractive. Was he the kind of man she would have been with before the turn? He couldn't guess. He knew she had a boyfriend who died after everything happened - _Mike_ \- but not much else about him.

He supposed it didn't much matter what she may have thought of him _then_. He couldn't imagine superficial preferences holding much weight for her anymore, if they ever did. They certainly didn't for him.

Michonne was his confidant, his friend. She accepted him for the man he was. She was a maternal figure to his children. She'd saved his life, more times and in more ways than he could count. That's what he cared about. That's why he cared _about her_.

And when it came to pure physicality… He didn't have any complaints there, either.

Michonne finished her food and was now watching Judith make a mess of her breakfast. He told himself to look away before she felt him staring, but it was too late. She turned her head and locked eyes with him.

The moment, however, was quickly broken by the sound of one of the dining room chairs scraping across the hardwood floors as Daryl stood from the table.

"Meet you at the car in an hour," he said to Rick, followed by goodbyes to Michonne and the kids.

Rick and Daryl had fallen into an almost daily routine of driving to the nearby towns to scavenge for food and supplies. And people. So far, they'd come up with next to nothing. And their search was getting increasingly more dangerous, taking them further and further out with each passing day. It hardly seemed worth it anymore, but they kept at it all the same.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat?" Michonne asked, standing up to clear her and the kids' bowls from the table. Rick watched her as she moved. He paid particular attention to the thin strip of her midsection that was visible between the waist of her pants and the bottom of her shirt.

"I'm not hungry. Thanks," Daryl said, then disappeared out the front door to do...whatever it was he did when he went off by himself.

Michonne dumped the dishes into the sink and plopped back down in her seat.

"You working on the walls again today?" Rick asked her.

"No, I'm clearing bodies all week." Walker bodies. The morning after the herd came through, corpses were strewn over every inch of the streets of Alexandria. It had been weeks, and they were still hauling them away.

"What about you?" Rick turned to Carl.

"I'm helping Maggie in the garden," he said.

"Like the good ol' days," he joked, referring to their time at the prison after Rick had taken away Carl's gun.

"Yeah," Carl smiled, but it didn't seem genuine. Michonne noticed it, too, and glanced over at him with a look of concern. After everything, Carl still had his good days and his bad days, which was to be expected. He'd lost his friend. He'd lost his eye. He almost died. And he was getting older, fast. He wouldn't continue to bounce back from these things like he did when he was just a boy. Rick and Michonne were both thankful for Enid, who had been a good friend to him through everything.

His son stood up and grabbed Judith. "I'll drop her off at the church," he offered.

"Thank you," Rick and Michonne said in unison.

Rick watched his children exit through the front door, then turned back to Michonne, who already had eyes trained on him. She didn't speak at first, but she seemed to be searching his face for some sort of answer.

"I think you should talk to Denise," she said eventually.

Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn't that. "Talk to Denise about what?"

"Your nightmares." The nightmares he'd made up this morning. "She was a psychiatrist."

"Yeah, I know," Rick said, rubbing his palm over his face, trying to decide how to get himself out of this one. "It was just one dream."

Looking utterly unimpressed with his explanation, she pulled her chair a little closer to him.

"Rick," she took a breath. "You've been through a lot. We all have. I want you to know that I understand. It used to get to me, too, but… It's been a while. And if this place is going to work, we need you to be _you_."

He understood immediately.

She was afraid of him going back into the train car.

But she didn't need to be.

Rick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Michonne, I promise…" He looked her square in her eyes for emphasis. "I'm good. It was just a one-off thing. I haven't had a dream like that in a long time."

That was doubly true. The erotic dream had been an unexpected - and not unpleasant - surprise. But his nightmares were just as rare these days. The night after Michonne cracked him over the head with a rock was the first real rest he'd gotten since they arrived in Alexandria. His insomnia and bad dreams had continued to improve as they rebuilt the safe zone. And now, it'd been weeks since he'd experienced any of it.

Replacing that stress and anxiety were things he hadn't felt in a long time: hope and humor and excitement. Lust, now. And something more than that, too, he had to admit.

"I'm here," he assured her. "Do you believe me?"

She still seemed confused by his behavior. He knew he was acting a bit strange with her this morning. But she did believe him, that much he could tell.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

He reached out and placed a hand on her bare shoulder. She didn't react. He'd touched her like that many times before. But for him, it sent electricity up his arm. He savored the feeling of her soft skin under his hand, and fought the urge to let his fingers explore any further.

"This is it," he assured her. "The place you were looking for, out there on the road. This is it. You were right. It's gonna work, I'll make sure of it."

Michonne was clearly taken aback, thinking about that day in Virginia when she'd begged Rick to go to Washington. She gave him an appreciative smile that seemed to knock the wind out of him, then brought her opposite hand up to her shoulder and laid it on top of his own. Only for a second, then she stood up.

"I gotta get out there," she said, heading for the door. She picked up her sword and slung it over her back. With her hand on the door knob, she turned around. "I'll see you tonight."

Rick nodded. "Be careful."

* * *

Rick entered the steamy bathroom and wiped his hands over the mirror. Condensation covered everything in sight. Heat wafted up from the spacious bathtub where Michonne lounged, arms folded over the side of the tub, back facing the ceiling.

"Toothpaste is in the medicine cabinet, not the bathtub," he said, dumbly.

"I know," Michonne said, her voice as light as air. She laid her head down across her folded arms.

"What are you doing in there?" He asked.

"You don't know?" She replied.

" _I know_. But you have your own tub."

"I like yours better."

The master bedroom did have the best bath in the house. A luxurious soaker tub nestled in the corner, more than big enough for two. He hadn't used it. Baths were an excessive use of water. But looking her now - skin dripping with moisture, round buttocks protruding from the soapy surface of the water - he was beginning to think it was worth it.

"Yeah, well, now I have to walk around like this all day," he said, gesturing to the erection that strained against his pants. He opened the medicine cabinet and pretended to look for something while he waited for her to make her move.

"Not necessarily."

He looked over at her to find her lifting her body up out of the water, and coming to rest back on her heels. Suds slid down over her naked breasts, clinging to her nipples. He was dying to have them in his mouth.

"If you're trying to seduce me-" he began.

"I don't have to try," she assessed correctly. "Come here," she urged, but he was already on his way. She lifted her arms to him and, fully clothed, Rick lifted one leg over the side of the tub and into the bath. Then the other. Piping hot water rapidly saturated his jeans and t-shirt. Steam rose up into his face. It was hard to breath. He didn't care.

He jerked Michonne into his arms and crushed his mouth against hers. The sounds of smacking lips and rippling water reverberated off the bathroom walls. She cupped his head in her hand while kissing her way down to his neck.

Rick began to clumsily struggle with his clothes, but he wasn't able to get them off. The button of his jeans kept slipping out of his fingers. His shirt felt like it had been stuck to his skin with thick, wet glue. She shushed him and batted his hands away, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it up his body effortlessly. He closed his eyes while she lifted the shirt over his head, and when he opened them, his pants were gone, too.

Michonne linked her arms around his neck and gently floated into his lap. He hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her body with ease, bringing her breasts into his line of vision. He caught one hard nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hard bud over and over. He switched to the other one, then back again. While he made out with her breasts, she reached down between them and positioned his dick upright.

Rick groaned loudly when she slid down onto him. He was ready to come just from being inside her. She buried her face in his neck, and he ran his hands up and down her slick back. He continued to moan uncontrollably while she ground herself into him.

But the better it felt, the greater the shock to his senses, the more he became aware that all of this was a mirage.

Frantic to make the most of it before it escaped him, he began to swiftly thrust inside her. Waves of water sloshed over the tub and onto the bathroom floor, but they didn't care. Michonne pressed her forehead against his. She was whispering things to him. He couldn't make out the words over the sound of splashing water, but he knew they were words of lust. She tilted her head to kiss his mouth. Once. Twice.

And then… Nothing.

Rick allowed himself a few seconds of denial before opening his eyes. Gone, was the warm bath and the naked, soapy Michonne. He was greeted only by ceiling of his dimly-lit bedroom.

It was early, just before dawn. The house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He rubbed his palms over his eyes and reached for his watch on the side table. _Four-thirty_. Just enough time for him to get dressed and relieve Sasha from watch duty.

Raising his arms above his head, he moved into a full-body stretch, and as he did, he felt discomfort between his legs. Dipping his hands under the blankets, he found the thin material of his underwear sopping wet.

 _Well. That was a first._

Even during his most hormonal adolescence, he'd never come in his sleep. Not that he was surprised, at this point. Since his first dream a couple days ago, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Michonne.

It was as if he was rediscovering her for the first time again. When she'd stormed into their lives back at the prison, she made him anxious. So much so, that he told himself it would be best for everyone if she didn't stick around. But deep down, had been curious. He'd wanted to know what happened to her before she met Andrea, how she'd learned to use her sword, if she'd had a group of her own whom she lost.

Having been with her this long, he knew the answers to all those things. Now, he wanted to know more. What was her favorite class in high school? What music did she used to listen to in the car? What was her biggest fear? ...What turned her on? Would she prefer being on top of him or underneath him?

It made being around her a completely different experience, but he liked it. He liked the sensations that would ripple through his body when she walked into the room, or said his name. He liked the way anticipation built up in his chest when he knew he was going to see her.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be seeing her that day. He would be in the watchtower all morning; later, while she cleared the streets, he'd be working on the reinforcements; and she'd be in the watchtower at night.

He wondered if he could get Olivia to put the two of them on some of the same jobs next week. Without looking obvious.

Probably not.

Rick let out a resigned sigh and went to yank off his covers, then stopped short and swung his gaze to the bathroom door. The last thing he needed was for Michonne to pop out now, when his briefs were plastered with semen. But the door was wide open, and the light inside was off.

After washing up and leaving his toothpaste in plain sight on the countertop, he clunked down the stairs. As he came to the last landing, he looked down the hallway and saw a crack of pre-dawn light streaming onto the hardwood floors. It was coming from Michonne's room.

Thinking she might be awake already, he made a line for her door. But when he pushed it ajar even further, he saw that she was still sleeping. She laid on her side, facing away from him. She slept on top of the bedspread and covered up with a throw blanket. He couldn't see any of her, except for her hair and her sock-covered feet.

Before everything happened, there were days that he had hated leaving for work. Like a Saturday morning, when it was cool and drizzling and grey outside. After getting showered and dressed, he would creep back into his room to kiss Lori goodbye. He'd press his lips to the crook of her neck, and she'd be warm, and the bedsheets would be soft. On mornings like that, he'd wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and stay there for hours.

Looking at Michonne now, he felt the exact same pull. From the hall, he couldn't smell her skin or feel the warmth radiate off of her or touch the silky comforter under her body. But if he had the opportunity to, he knew he would forget all about guard duty.

Over the top of her head, he could see Judith's monitor propped up on her nightstand. Since he had to be on watch so early, Michonne would be the one getting her up this morning. She'd drop her off with Carol, then he'd pick her up and bring her home for bed.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, the two of them. Ever since they were on the road after the prison. But particularly since settling in at the safe zone, things had truly fallen into place, and Michonne was the glue that held it together. She'd changed everything for him.

Over the last couple days, he'd kept coming back to the night Carl was shot, and how it was the first time he had been scared - really, sincerely afraid - in a long time. After the fight, he'd sat hunched over Carl's bedside so long that his back burned with pain. And when he stepped outside the room for a breath of fresh air, he'd found Michonne. Right outside the door. Holding his daughter. Somehow he knew she'd been there the whole time.

And he'd looked down into her face and saw the same heart-stopping fear he was feeling reflected in her eyes.

And he'd realized in that moment, he couldn't do any of this without her.

* * *

"I thought you would have been gone by now," Rick said, leaning against the door frame of Michonne's cell.

She stopped in the middle of her crunches, and smiled up at him from the floor. He held a hand out to help her stand. "In another day, maybe," she said, taking it and pulling herself up. "There's no rush."

"Since when?" He asked in disbelief.

"Since the trail went cold. Besides, wherever the Governor is, he can't know I'm looking for him. A day or two won't make a difference."

"So you're staying for _two_ more days?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No. Just the opposite. I want you to stay. And I know you want to stay."

"Then what's the problem?"

" _Why_ do you want to stay?" It wasn't really a question.

She sighed, bending over to smooth out the wrinkles from a blanket on her bunk. "You know why."

"Say it, anyway."

"You."

He took a few steps inside. "You," she repeated. She reached out to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. "And Carl, and Judith. It's hard being away from you."

Rick hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. "I know. It's hard for us, too."

She nodded against his shoulder, understanding how he worried when she went off by herself.

"But I can't say anything about it," he added.

She looked up at him. "Why not?"

"It's not my place. You and me, we're not…" He shook his head. "I don't get a say."

She brought her fingers up and stroked the scruff on his chin. "I'm giving you a say," she whispered.

He looked down into her brown eyes. "Stay. Please. Everything will be fine if-" His words ended on a muffle as Michonne pressed her mouth against his. He let out a relieved sigh and kissed her back. He gripped her waist, holding her to him while he slid his tongue across her lips. She opened for him and forcefully pushed him back against the frame of her bunk.

Rick could feel everything. Her wet, hot tongue. Her soft breasts pressing into his chest. He cupped her face, trying to get deeper into her mouth, and he could hear tiny moans rising up in her throat.

Michonne braced her hands on his arms and sank her teeth into his bottom lip. The love bite drove him wild, and his hands flew to her ass, trying to feel as much of her as he could through her jeans.

"I'm not sure I can be quiet," she whispered, and began to suckle his ear lobe. He swore he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"Fine by me." He wrapped his arms around her waist and began to guide her to the bed.

"Everyone is right outside. Carl could hear us," she explained.

"No, it's just you and me." She pulled back and looked at him, confused. "Look." He gestured to the doorway of her cell.

She turned around and walked out into the cell block. Rick began to follow her, but the bright light from the windows shone into his face, poured into the cell behind him. The rays were so strong, he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He called out Michonne's name, not wanting to get separated, but she didn't answer.

He inched his way out into the block. His feet felt like they were buried in wet sand, and the sunlight got brighter with every baby step. He turned his face away. It was too bright, too much...

Before he opened his eyes, Rick could feel the sun boring down on his face through the passenger side window. He turned his head to the side and squinted his eyes open, trying to avoid in the light.

The first thing he did was look down at his crotch. He was hard, but hadn't creamed himself like he had a couple days back. Thankfully, considering he wasn't alone.

"Rise and shine," Daryl mumbled from the driver's seat.

"Hey." Rick adjusted in his seat, rolling his neck to relieve the tension caused by his napping position.

"You alright?" He asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Yeah."

"Getting kinda noisy over there."

"Sorry, I uh…I had a bad dream." Might as well be consistent.

"Didn't sound like a bad dream."

Rick didn't respond, just rubbed his hands over his face to shake off his drowsiness. Then, seeming to suddenly realize that he was walking straight into a conversation neither of them wanted to have, Daryl shifted uncomfortably and refocused his attention on the road. Rick changed the subject.

"We're going back," he observed by the road signs.

"Yup. I hit the last two stops."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "Tried."

"What'd you find?"

"Nothing we were looking for."

Which meant all they had to show for the last twelve hours were some cans of barely expired Campbell's soup, a few bars of soap, and a BB gun. Disappointing, but better than nothing.

"But," he continued. "I picked up a couple things." He jerked his head toward a paper bag sitting on the back seat.

Rick brought it onto his lap and reached inside blindly. The first thing he felt his fingers touch was cool, rusted metal. He pulled it out and found himself looking at a license plate. New Mexico. For Aaron and Eric, of course.

Next, he pulled out a single candy bar: a Big Kat.

 _Michonne's favorite_ , he remembered instantly.

"Michonne asked for those," Daryl confirmed. "I could only find one."

"When?"

"At the last place."

"No, I mean, when did she ask?" Rick wondered, briefly, why she hadn't asked _him_. Not that it mattered.

"A few days ago. Why?"

Rick shook his head, brushing off the question. "Did she ask for anything else?" He'd kept his eyes open for necessities only. He wished he'd known she wanted things. He would've looked for them.

Daryl shot Rick a strange look. Like he was thinking something, but he wasn't going to say it. "No," he responded eventually, and turned his eyes back to the road.

Rick dropped Michonne's candy bar back in the bag, thinking about the smile that would spread across her face when they gave it to her. And the smile that would spread across Carl's when she offered to split it with him.

The last thing in the bag was a cassette tape. He turned it over to see the band.

Boston.

"Thought you might want it," Daryl said.

"Why's that?"

"You like shitty music," he replied, dryly.

" _Boston?_ That's classic, man," Rick argued.

"Nah, it's just old. Sucked then, it sucks now."

Rick laughed and tossed the bag with all its contents to the back seat. "Suit yourself."

They returned home after dusk. Inside the gates, Daryl headed to Aaron and Eric's place with the license plate, and Rick went home.

The streets of Alexandria were calm and quiet at this time of night. Looking at the pitch black houses as he passed by, he could see most people had gone to bed. He wasn't surprised. The hard physical labor of rebuilding the safe zone paired with the lack of food meant they all needed as much rest as they could get. He planned on heading straight to bed himself.

Just...not to sleep.

His dick was on the brink of springing back to life any second and, this time, he intended to make the best of it. He always maintained that masturbation was better as an adult. Sure, there was something to be said about the raw enthusiasm of his teenage years. But as a man, he'd developed a technique. Timing and positioning and the perfect blend of mental images to bring him to completion at just the right time.

In fact, he was already shuffling through the images he'd use tonight. Michonne with her robe and her legs spread wide open, her wet breasts in his mouth, groping her in her cell at the prison...

Rick entered his dark home quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness in the air when he closed the door. He listened closely, but couldn't hear anyone awake.

The only source of light came from the window in the kitchen. Pale moonlight bathed the countertops, and glinted off the cabinet handles. He walked over to the sink and plucked a cup from a towel full of clean dishes, filled it up with cool tap water.

As he took a long drink, he heard footsteps on the second floor. In Judith's room, then walking down the hall to the stairs…

Michonne emerged from the staircase a few moments later with a lantern in one hand, and the baby monitor in the other. He walked over to meet her.

She looked fresh and clean, even in the dull light of the lantern. She was the picture of comfort in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a soft-looking tank top. Her hair smelled like coconut cream pie.

"Hey," she said softly. "You just missed Judith."

Rick smiled at the image of his daughter sleeping on the monitor's screen. "Yeah," he sighed. "Got back later than we expected. We went out pretty far today."

"Find anything good?"

"Bunch of tomato soup."

Michonne grimaced, setting down the lantern on the countertop. "I hate tomato soup. I used to, anyway."

"Well, I think we managed to get one thing you'll be happy with," he teased, producing the Big Kat from the pocket of his button up. He had been planning on leaving it in her room, but this was better.

A slow, easy smile took over the better part of her face - just like he'd predicted - and she reached for the chocolate bar. Her hand brushed his when she took it.

"I can't believe you found one." She shook her head in disbelief. Then, after a beat, "I thought it would be a nice surprise for Carl."

"It will be," Rick nodded in agreement.

He was just about to excuse himself to his bedroom when Michonne walked into the living room and plopped down in the armchair. She wanted to talk, like they often did when they were both still up at the end of a long day. It was one of the many ordinary rituals he had fallen into here, and one in particular that he looked forward to.

"So, where'd you find the Big Kat?" She asked.

"I didn't, Daryl did," he corrected, taking a seat opposite Michonne. "I was asleep in the car."

"You can't hack it anymore, old man," she joked.

"Hey, easy, easy."

"Maybe tomorrow we can switch. I'll go with Daryl and you can clear bodies. The smell of rotting corpses will keep you nice and alert, I promise."

Rick chuckled. "It's a deal."

Michonne leaned forward to put the candy bar on the table and pick up the baby monitor instead. As she did, he caught a flash of her breasts which were...pretty poorly concealed even when she was sitting up straight. Getting a look right down her shirt caused the blood to rush to his groin even faster. He glanced at the staircase longingly.

It was ironic, wanting to bypass his time _with_ Michonne so he could go upstairs and jack off thinking _about_ her. He could easily make a move and possibly get the best of both of those options. And he'd even thought about it, on and off, over the last few days.

Instead, he chose to step lightly.

He and Michonne were a lot alike. He didn't realize it in the beginning, but he now knew that was part of what drew him to her way back then. They were both fighters, both resilient, fiercely protective, ruthless when they needed to be, merciful when they needed to be. And they both loved so deeply that the grief after loss consumed them.

Rick had found a way to live again after he lost Lori, and he knew Michonne had done the same after losing Mike. But he also knew that she had lost someone else.

Her child.

She'd never said so, but he knew. From the first time he'd seen her easy togetherness with Carl, coupled with the way she once shied away from Judith, he knew Michonne was a mother. A mother without her baby.

And that added something else to the situation. He didn't have to live through the loss of one of his children to understand it was something a person never truly, completely recovered from.

Even if Michonne had feelings for him, there was no telling if she was ready for something like that just because he was.

And, _he was_.

So, for now, he'd wait for a sign from her. In the meantime, there was nothing stopping him from enjoying her. Nothing stopping him from staring at her during breakfast, or seeking out her company, or pulling her into a conversation about nothing, or paying closer attention when she walked around the house in that robe.

Nothing stopping him from loving her.

He never told her that he'd grieved for her losses the same way he grieved for his own, that he'd shed tears for a child whose name and age and face he didn't even know. He'd never told her, and until she broached the subject with him on her own, he didn't plan to. He'd long since accepted the possibility that day might never come. He just hoped that he, and Carl and Judith, helped to ease any of her pain. He hoped that they gave her everything she had given them.

"Hey," her voice pulled him back to their conversation. "Where are you?"

"Sorry," he grinned. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, for me, too." She steepled her fingers around the baby monitor, fidgeting with it.

"Did you get rid of all those bodies yourself?" He asked, recalling how much clearer the streets looked when he'd gotten home than they did when he left.

"Oh, no," she said. "I had some fresh meat helping me out today."

Intrigued, Rick perked up. "Who?"

"Tobin. Scott."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this one," Rick shook his head in amusement, thinking of the two men who'd only been tasked with construction thus far. He shoved his boots off with his toes and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Okay, well," she began. "First, before we even got started, Scott threw up…"


End file.
